Foreshores
by celestialcelest
Summary: Time passes. Dynamics shift. Goals clash. In the midst of all this change, you find a locket and discover the significance it holds for a tired plague doctor. A one-shot for The Arcana, set prior to the events of the prologue.


You found it again years after you first dug it from Vesuvia's shoreline. It was tucked in a drawer underneath a shirt pile. A smooth, tarnished locket on a fine silver chain. On a whim, you opened it. Just salt-stained glass. Empty.

A wave of frustration. You flung it onto the dresser. This wasn't important now. You had to leave. You stayed to help the plague victims. The herbs you sold did nothing but cause you guilt.

Ever since Asra left, the shop had turned suffocating. You still couldn't shake the words you shouted last time you saw him. _Selfish. Coward._

Then a word you could still hear echoing in the air. _Leave_.

 _You_ had to leave. Right now. One more glance around the room. You'd be back. On your way out, you took the locket.

You traveled for an entire day. Hours to lend to your thoughts. No matter where you started, they all led back to Asra.

At some point you took the locket out. It was cool to the touch, polished flat by the previous owner's thumb. At least, that's what you liked to think. Asra thought differently.

" _...maybe the sand and saltwater wore down the engravings…"_

No. You promised yourself you would stop thinking about him. You walked faster. The sooner you got to the palace, the better.

Guards waited at the gate. You presented yourself to them, then to the Count and Countess. A servant brought you down an elevator and before a sallow-skinned, razor-toothed doctor. Valdemar They they asked questions.

Did you have a former occupation? Yes. What was it? Magician. Did you have any medical knowledge? Little.

Names were irrelevant. Motivations were irrelevant. Maybe it wasn't much of a miracle you made it past the interview. Those were desperate times.

Valdemar assigned you a number. What was it? Apprentice no. 46? 64? 94?

You remember your mentor, though. Julian. You don't remember his face. But you remember the nights you watched him toil by candlelight. How he grimaced while dissecting cadavers. The glimpses you caught of the person he used to be. Warm. Soft-hearted. Gentle.

Medicine and magic overlapped more than you expected. The herbs, of course. And the hypothesizing, the evaluating, the modifying. Julian called it the "scientific method". It became your way of life.

You never heard from Asra.

Julian always dismissed you hours before he left his office. Something about apprentices needing rest. At first you protested. He needed rest too. But he was stubborn. You gave up.

The time you spent arguing became time spent sitting at the edge of your bed, staring at the silver locket. Brushing a thumb over it. Watching as it grew more tarnished. Until you grew sick of the locket, of heartache, of Asra.

Your inn room became suffocating.

A nightly walk became routine. You took the time to breathe deeply and… No, even that brought up memories of him. Focus on your breathing, he'd remind you.

You focused on your despair, the weight of the locket around your neck, the delicacy of the chain. You pulled at it until it came loose then hurled it as far as you could. Then you returned to your room, cursed under your breath, and closed the door softly.

Morning came. You walked to the palace. As usual, Julian was already at work. He looked exhausted.

You prepared to wish him good morning, but fell silent as your eyes landed on the corner of his desk. The locket.

Julian noticed your silhouette in the corner of his vision and looked up from his work. A book pile, writing in the margins, pages of notes. He offered you a tired smile then followed your gaze, still fixed on the locket.

"I lost that when I left Nevivon. Couldn't believe my eyes when I found it this morning."

Nevivon… For all the time you spent working with the doctor, you never spoke about your personal lives. You'd failed to notice the slight cadence of his voice.

"Found it near the pier," you said. You gestured with your hands. "Under the sand."

" _You_ found it?"

You nodded. Then you felt your face grow warm and tried quickly to think up an excuse for it being left broken on the side of the road.

He didn't seem to think anything of it. He let out a soft chuckle. "It had a journey, then."

"Why'd ya leave Nevivon?" The words are out before you can stop them. But curiosity burned in you.

He shrugged, but a smile was on his lips. "Adventure. Exploration. And, uh, to study medicine of course. A few years in Prakra learning the theory. I apprenticed on the field."

"In _battle_?"

Julian nodded. You took a minute to process the information. Maybe that's why he looked so… drained. He was used to healing under the fire of weapons. There was no adrenaline in this research.

"Before I left, my sister and I dried some flowers. She gave me a little orange one to take with me. Unfortunate that the water got to it."

He turned back to his work, scribbling a few words. You can't decipher them. After a while, your eyes drift to the locket.

"D'you want it back?" you asked, finally looking away. You weren't sure which hurt more: the memories of Asra that replayed when you looked at it, or noticing they were gone when you didn't.

Julian stopped, placing the quill down and looking up at you again. "Want it… back?"

"Yes."

A flurry of emotions crossed his face. He loved his sister. She'd been young when he left Nevivon, and many years had passed since Julian had been back. She was grown up.

Julian picked up the broken chain. It hung suspended from his hand, glinting in the torchlight. He didn't answer.

You still wished Asra would return, but your grief lessened every day. You were learning to accept the situation, and the locket only made you hold on longer, pulled you back into the current of your hurt. But Julian. The way he gaped at the locket made you believe his grief hadn't started. That he never gave himself the time. But it was human to grieve. He needed to grieve.

Finally he answered. A whisper, like he didn't trust himself to speak. "Of course."


End file.
